Six
by panneler-san
Summary: Atton is given six chances to save the Exile from the dark side.
1. Space

Space

No matter what anyone told him, no matter what anyone, most of all she, said, Atton Rand knew that he should have told her he was in love with her sooner.

He could feel his blood. It was a strange thought, to consider that what was wrapped around him, encasing his skin at this moment was what should be keeping him alive.

Or at least warm.

He didn't know where Sion had gone, nor did he really care. Because in the end, there was more than one truth he had been eluding from himself.

Atton Rand was no Jedi.

He tried to laugh at himself as he stared at the ground, but the gashes in his flesh forced him to stop as they stung. He closed his eyes. Where was she now? Had she defeated Kriea? Or had the old woman killed her? That idea hurt him more than his wounds.

The Exile could be dead.

She could be dead.

She could be…

He wouldn't have it. His eyes snapped open, and he was startled to find himself staring out of something shimmering and golden, something pulsating.

It took him nearly thirty seconds to realize where he was. He was on Peragus. In his force cage. Atton looked around wildly. What was going on? He was on Malichor V seconds ago, so how-?

The door to the holding room shuddered as it was forced open. The large metal sheet slid down, and he couldn't help but stare as he realized he must be dead when _she _walked into the room.

She looked so different, so much healthier. They had only been together for twelve short months, but she had changed so drastically in such a short time. From Peragus to Malichor, it had been one long downward spiral since she had met him.

He found his mouth opening.

"Nice outfit." His body smirked against his will. "What, you miners change regulation uniform while I've been in here?"

Surely he was dead. That could be the only explanation for why he was clinging so desperately to life, reliving the moment he had found something to live for. The Exile glared at him, and it was almost exactly as he remembered her.

She was always the most beautiful when she was mad at him.

"Who are you?" she asked, and pointed a vibroblade right at him from outside the cage.

"Easy, princess, put your blade down," he said, nearly by heart. "We're all friends here."

"Who the hell are you?" she asked again.

"I'm Atton. Atton Rand. Excuse me if I don't shake hands. The field only causes minor…" He drifted off.

He must be dead. Why was he clinging to life when he was already gone? Did he need to relive every agonizing moment with her, for the rest of eternity, trapped in a loop of regret that he didn't confess his feelings to her sooner? Or, at all?

What was wrong with deviating from the path a bit? After all – he was dead.

No matter what he told her now, it wouldn't change the fact that she would never know.

The imaginary Exile frowned when he didn't finish speaking. "Minor what?"

"You know, Ihal," he whispered, and the imaginary Exile froze. "I never told you, not once on our long journey together. I kept a lot of things from you. I never told you how much I wished I could bring you back from the dark side. I watched you fall, on Dantooine, after we met Mical. I know I could have stopped it, but I let it consume you."

The Exile stared at him, her face a puzzled mix of confusion and – was that what he thought? – fear.

"But the thing I regret the most-" He choked, feeling his eyes burn, and shut them quickly. He refused to cry. Especially not in front of her. Not in front of a ghost.

But what did he care?

He was dead, after all.

"…never told you." He took in a shuddering breath. "I meant every word I said to you," he told her, laying his soul bare before her. "I was afraid…I didn't want to lose you."

He laughed, and felt something hot slide down his cheek and something burn in his abdomen.

"Hurts when I laugh," he whispered, and opened his eyes. "Hurts…"

He was staring right at her face, not at all beautiful, but manipulated by the dark side. His body burned. He was in pain all over. She regarded him with emotionless, cold eyes. This was the real Exile. The red light of Malichor V beat down on him, and the planet began to take one of its final breaths. The realization hit him like an explosion– he wasn't dead yet.

"Ihal," he breathed.

She tilted her head. "You're injured, Atton."

He still refused to cry. Had he spoken out loud? How much had she heard of his deepest secret? "Ihal," he breathed again, and felt a ripping sensation that twisted his flesh as he tried to breathe. "Did I…save you, yet?"

Whatever she had been expecting, it was not that. Her sickly, pale face was wiped blank in surprise.

He kept talking. "Never was good at playing the knight," he gasped, and he realized that her hands were clasped around the front of his jacket, trembling. "You…saved me more than I…saved you. Did I save you, yet?"

"You never told me," she whispered.

He barely managed to smile. "What?"

Her black eyes, hard with malice, pierced through his heart. "How did you know my name when we first met on Peragus?"

Something was wrong.

"Peragus?"

"Yes."

Something was very wrong. "You told me…at the comm…"

"No." She shook her head, and her hands were no longer trembling. Any softness that had taken over her features was once again manipulated by the dark side. "You knew my name before I told you. In that force cage. Answer me. How?"

Suddenly he was falling. Everything was black and then red and then white, and the pain vanished and he was dead again. But this time he was not on Peragus. He was not staring out of a force cage, with an Exile that had not yet fallen in front of him. Several people, those he did not recognize, stood before him, in a room of white. It was just pure space. For a second they looked like holorecordings, but then the blue shimmer vanished and the four men stood before him in the flesh.

Atton immediately began counting cards in his head.

_19 total. Minus three, play plus five. Twenty. Pure Pazaak._

One of the men, with a scruffy look about him, sighed in exasperation. "Well!" he cried. "Tell me this is awkward for everyone else, please."

"Quite," barked one of the men, and Atton nearly laughed at the irony that he was a Cathar. "We proceed with the mission."

"Why am I even here?" asked the man on the left with a thick black moustache.

"Or me," interjected the final stranger. "I was just dragged along. You're a doctor. They're sure to have a greater use for you."

Atton stared. "What in space is going on?" he cried. "Who are you?!"

The first man, the scruffy one, stepped forward and offered his hand for a shake. "The name's Corso Riggs," he said, and they shook hands, although the dead man remained bewildered and confused beyond belief. Corso nodded behind him at his companions. "Those three are Tharan Cedrax, Doc – what the hell was your name, anyway? – and Aric Jorgan. I'm sure you must not understand much of what's going on right about now."

"Would anyone?" he asked. "Where am I? I know you've told me who you are but who _are _you?"

The Cathar stepped forward. "My name is Aric Jorgan, Lieutenant, second in command of Havoc Squad."

"Never heard of you."

The man ignored his blatant insult. "We're here because of a threat that concerns the entire Republic."

His confusion only grew.

"The best way for us to tell you what we want is for me to be honest with you," he continued.

Atton frowned. "I'm all ears."

"You were born three hundred years ago."

Atton nearly fell over. "Is this some sick joke?" he asked. A thought stopped him dead in his tracks. "Oh, space – did I hit the Juma Juice on Nar Shaddaa again? Is this Mical's idea of a prank?"

He secretly hoped it to be true. That would mean that she hadn't fallen to the dark side, yet, that they were safe on a different planet, any planet that wasn't Malichor. It would mean there was still time for him to save her.

"Unfortunately no," said the man with the mustache, introduced only as "Doc". "The situation is a tad more…complicated than that."

"I'll begin at the start," said Aric. "We don't have much time to explain. Two hundred and seventy-three years ago, a certain exiled Jedi began a search for the remaining Jedi masters in the known galaxies."

Atton felt the blood drain from his face.

"She found them, but they were all killed. Shortly after a confrontation with her…master at the time, this exile left the planet Malichor V in ruins and went on to restore the Sith Empire to its former glory, wrecking more havoc than the galaxy has seen Ajunta Pall, and that was nearly a thousand years ago."

His head swam.

"This exile became known as Darth Ihal. She was the reigning Sith Lord for decades. Because of the order she brought to the Sith, the world in which I was born is in ruin."

Atton shook his head. "I don't trust you."

"It's true," said Corso. "We know all about you, too."

"Who said I know who you're talking about?"

"You don't know the Exile?" asked Doc. "I doubt that, you look like a liar."

He grit his teeth. "You know nothing about me."

"Wanna bet?" asked Corso.

"Prove it."

"Your name is Jaq Rand," said Aric, and Atton stumbled back. "You use a fake name, Atton, you joined the Sith at an early age and worked for years as an interrogations specialist. You've killed more Jedi than all of Havoc Squad has killed Imperials. You traveled with the Exile after she rescued you from Peragus." His green eyes glinted. "Am I wrong, Jaq?"

"How the hell do you know that?" he breathed.

"We're running out of time," said the fourth man, who had remained silent the entire conversation. "Brief him now and let's _go_."

"You have seven chances," Aric explained, rushed. "Six, actually. We used one on accident. You have to fix it, Rand. History suggests that you are the _only _one that can stop Darth Ihal from falling to the dark side. We can keep you alive until then, but you've got to do your damnedest. Fix her before she falls. You'll save millions of lives."

He hardly believed what he was hearing. But he remembered Ihal's last words to him, asking how he knew her name before she had told him, and he thought… _Maybe this is real_. That meant he had a chance to tell her. Everything he'd kept bottled up inside. He had the chance to save her.

That was all that really mattered to him, after all.

"I have to fix her?" he asked quietly.

"That means she must become Jedi again, not Sith," said Aric.

"Six chances?" he asked. "How do you determine a single chance?"

"We aren't sure about that," Doc cut in. "Specifics are rocky. It's up to you, in some way. Just make every second count."

"You've already had some influence, during your first attempt," said Corso. "We saw the whole thing. In the history books, it says Darth Ihal watched you die without feeling and then left. This time around she seemed mildly distressed – or annoyed – that you had died."

"Time's up," said Tharan. Immediately they began to fade. Or maybe it was he, fading.

"What happens if I succeed?" he yelled after them. "Can I change other things?"

He thought of his friends, and their dead bodied floating somewhere in cages that Ihal had flooded.

"One thing won't change, Rand," came Aric's voice as his world became black. "In the end, you're still dead."

A/N:

Next Chapter: Peragus

I spent all day reading the tumbler "Fuck Yeah Atton Rand" and playing SWTOR MMORPG. This is the result. I predict a simple eight chapter story for my fellow Star Wars junkies. Have a happy day.

Pantan


	2. Peragus

Peragus

Whatever strange force was making all this happen, it certainly worked fast.

Moments after his conversation with the four strangers ended, he found himself staring out of his force cage again. The Exile stared at him, her eyes suspicious and guarded. For some reason, the only thing he could think was _she's in her underwear again. Ah, memories._ Before he could even try to remember what he should be doing, she opened her mouth and spoke.

"How about you tell me your plan, and then I'll let you out?" she suggested.

He caught up quick. "Or you can let me out and we'll both escape," he said.

Ihal sighed in resignation and moved to the consol in the corner. After a few beeps, the golden shimmer winked out, and he was free. "So what is your plan?" she asked.

He couldn't help but grin. It was just like her never to miss a beat. "You're not gonna like it," he said.

He didn't particularly enjoy sending her down into the mines a second time. Ihal was not a Sith on Peragus, and he had to remind himself of what he was doing as he watched her sauntering form walk away, underwear fitting her like a glove.

His throat felt dry when she vanished into the mines. "How am I supposed to stop her from going to the dark side?" he whispered.

He realized he had no clue what he was doing.

"At least she's half-naked," he mused.

The comm link crackled to life. _"I've found some clothes,"_ Ihal informed him.

"Shit!" he muttered. "I forgot – uh, I mean good. Good. Clothes are, uh, healthy things. No sense in you running around in your skivvies. It'll distract the…uh…droids."

There was a pause. A strange sound barely swam through the crackling interference of the mines, but it was obviously laughter. Ihal was laughing at him.

He felt a grin start to spread across his face. When was the last time he had heard her laugh?  
"Are you sick?" he asked. "Why are you making that noise like you want to retch?"

_"I'll keep the channel open in case you want to offer me any advice," _she said.

"Oh, you have no idea," he muttered.

He watched her progress through the tunnels, wondering what to say or how to act. One of the strange men had advised him to make every second count. He sighed.

"Here goes." He turned his comm on.

_"What is it? Trouble ahead?" _asked the Exile.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "There's some superheated rock ahead. Switch on your heat shield and you'll be fine."

_"Understood. Ihal out."_

"Wait!" he cried, and the blank crackling continued. "I – I have a feeling like you'll get lonely down there, so you can just stay on the comm and we can chat…get to know each other a bit better."

_"Get to know each other?"_

"Yeah," he said. "We're gonna be stuck together for a long time, anyway. I mean, uh, until we can get of this damn planet."

There was a hesitant pause, and he secretly hoped he hadn't already ruined his chances completely. Then, _"Okay. It's boring down here, anyway. Tell me about yourself, and please don't be surprised if you hear blaster fire. There are a lot of rogue mining droids down here."_

"Tell you about me. Right." He gulped. "I was…born on Alderann. Lived there most of my life. Then when the Jedi Civil war cropped up, I left home."

He was ashamed that he couldn't tell her the truth even now. He skipped killing Jedi all together.

"Well, the war ended, I drifted to Peragus somehow, and then you showed up in your underwear and things got a lot better."

_"Why didn't you stay on Alderann?" _she asked. _"No one to be with? No family, friends, no girlfriend, no wife?"_

He laughed a bit. It felt so strange discussing this with her. "No wife. My family…" He pictured the faces of his companions one by one (excluding Mical). "I'm hoping they'll be fine."

_"So you're the type that's never really had a place to call home," _she concluded.

"Naw, I've got a home," he said. "It's space." With you. "And there is someone that I'd like to be with, protect. But I lost her." He looked down at his hands. "Sometime on Dantooine."

_"I'm sorry. Was she special to you?"_

His heart burned. "Yeah."

The consol beeped in warning tones. Atton began pressing buttons and trying to bypass the security.

"Ihal, whatever you've got to do down there, make it _quick_, because the mines are gonna blow. There's a turbolift to the maintenance level, get on it and get out, now!"

_"Rodger. Atton?"_

"What?"

_"Thank you. For staying with me."_

The static finally overcame the connection, and then the sound stopped entirely as they were cut off from each other. Atton looked out the giant observation window and imagined her walking across the surface of the asteroid. His lips tweaked up. "Any time."

Someone was watching him.

He was surprised to find that his force powers still flowed in his veins. He had assumed that once he returned to the beginning everything would return with him. But the force was still there, and it could no longer be ignored.

He spun around.

"Kriea," he gasped.

The old woman regarded him calmly – that damn witch was always calm. She walked closer. "So," she said, "now you must search for what you cannot find amongst the living?"

He managed to hold his ground, and felt anger well up inside of him. This woman was the cause of everything. "What do you mean?"

"I know that you are dead, fool," she said. "As am I. Everyone in this place is a shadow to her, a tool to use. She is the only real thing."

"If you know so much, then maybe I should just kill you now and save Ihal the trouble," he threatened, pointing his blaster at her heart.

Kriea smirked. "Fear not, fool. I am not here to change her fate. That is for you to decide. I will act as I always have."

He swore at her, for lack of anything more intelligent he could say.

She nearly smiled, but Atton thought that it would just make her more senile. "Do not forget, Atton. The future rests in the balance."

He frowned. "Is that Sith for 'I hate you' or am I reading too much into our relationship?"

"Imbecilic questions deserve equally ridiculous answers," she said. "But I have to patience to toy with you. Fix or destroy the Exile as you will."

She turned to go, and Atton called out. "Is it only us that remembers what happened?" he asked. "Do Mical, Bao-Dur, Mira, or the others know?"

"It was only supposed to be you," she informed him. "I merely pushed my way into the problem, and that is why I know. But from this moment on, liar, you are alone."

He watched her leave, most likely off to wait for Ihal in some dark hallway. He sighed. "What am I doing?" he murmured. "The future rests in the balance? I'd say my future rests in the balance of a really strong drink."

The comm beeped, and the Exile's signal came back online. He blinked. Had she already made it to the outside?

"Ihal," he called through the link. "There you are. I lost your signal after the tunnels collapsed. Where the hell are you?"

_"Look up," _she said, and he distinctly remembered her smirking the first time they had done this. Sure enough, she looked as smug as ever, and Atton couldn't help but compare how she looked now to Malichor. Her skin was smooth and soft, not rough and cracked. But she still was not whole.

"Well, son of a schutta," he said, and gave her the thumbs up through the observation window. "Who'd have thought?"

It was right about that moment that the consol went mad, announcing the arrival of another ship, and Ihal turned to look that Atton _felt _Sion. The dark energy was strong, and he was so startled that he nearly fell back. He hadn't realized when Ihal had been opening his mind to the force because they had done it gradually, but the waves emitting from the fractured Sith in the Harbinger were powerful.

"I don't like this," he said. "Ihal, do whatever you've got to do and get the hell back up here."

_"Copy that."_

The comm went dead, and the energy encased him.

Sion was wondering who he was, he knew it. Atton tried as hard as he could to get the presence out of his mind, but reality crashed down on him once again.

He really was no Jedi, after all.

But he would make one.

He was falling again. The black and red and white flashed by quickly, and he felt his would on his abdomen reopen, and then once again the red light of Malichor V burned into his skin. It surprised him, the sudden switch. Was that one chance gone already?

"Damn!" he whispered. Had he changed anything at all? There was a shape in the distance. His vision was growing fuzzy. Must he experience the same pain of dying every time?

He knew the figure had to be the Exile. Would this death be any different from his last? The closer she got, the more his heart sank. He could barely see, but it was obvious she was still Sith. Her eyes were cold and her face marble.

"Ihal," he gasped.

She kneeled beside him, neither frowning nor smiling.

"Shoulda known…you'd be the one to see me like this," he said. "Watch me die…again…"

A crease appeared between her eyes. "You can still come with me," she said, but he felt no warmth in her voice. "I taught you that if your will is strong enough you can overcome anything."

"Look at me, sweetheart," he said, and chuckled a bit. "I'm beat. Why are you like this?"

"I don't understand."

He reached up. She seemed surprised when he gently tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "This," he explained. "Nothing has changed. I didn't use my time…wisely. You…still don't…know anything." It was hard for him to breathe. "I'm dying," he said. "Again. And I still haven't saved you."

Something flickered in her eyes, an emotion he couldn't place. His sight failed him, but he could still hear and feel. Her calloused, cold hands gripped his face. "Wake up," she ordered him. "What do you mean, save me? You think you made me this? I chose this path on my own, Atton. Atton! Remember Alderann? You told me you wanted to go back there. You can help me with my quest, Atton! Atton! Atton?"

Slowly her words faded. Had he changed anything at all? In the end, she was still Sith, and he still hadn't told her his biggest secret. He died again.

_Oh, well, _he thought. _I've still got five more whacks at it._

Where would he wake up next?

A/N:

Previous Chapter: Space

Next Chapter: Telos

Huzza. Thanks for reading!


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